


Stranded

by aftereighteen



Category: Swimming RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-20 22:09:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aftereighteen/pseuds/aftereighteen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan's flight to New York is cancelled.  Fortunately, Michael's picked up a new skill in retirement...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stranded

Ryan’s tried everything he can think of. He’s called his agent, he’s spoken to his coach, he’s pleaded with the check-in staff – without using the phrase, “Don’t you know who I am?” because of course they do, it’s on his fucking passport – but he’s still stuck at the airport with Conor. How they both managed to think the other was responsible for checking that the flight was still good to go was anyone’s guess. Ryan had assumed that, as he was driving them to the airport, Conor would have the flight covered. Conor had guessed that Ryan was taking care of both. They were both wrong. And now they were both stuck in Jacksonville and getting themselves in a reasonable amount of trouble with their coach and the rest of the team as they waited to see whether they could get another flight.

Conor’s wandered off somewhere and Ryan’s playing on his phone and trying not to sulk in public. Every few minutes, someone comes over asking for a picture and an autograph. Ryan doesn’t mind that, despite his bad mood. It’s not like he’s busy. What he does mind is the people who think they’re being really discreet by just taking pictures around their backpacks and when they’re pretending to be searching around for service. He knows everyone thinks he’s stupid, but these fools just make themselves look stupider. He wants to tell them that he can see them, that he’s not blind but, public image and all.

So Ryan slumps down a little further in the uncomfortable airport seat – seriously, who designs these? – and continues to wait. He ignores the texts and tweets from teammates and friends telling him what an idiot he is for not checking his flight before he left the house. He knows that already. He pops his headphones in and tries not to think about how much he misses his dog, despite having been away for less than eight hours.

It’s only when he gets a tap on the shoulder that Ryan realises a member of staff is trying to get his attention. He takes his earbuds out and stands up hopefully.

“Could you follow me please, Mr Lochte?” she asks.

Ryan grabs his backpack, “Hold on a sec, I need to find Conor,” he says, scrolling through his phone for Conor’s number when he still can’t see him nearby.

“Oh no, it’s just you I need,” she smiles at him.

Ryan frowns. “I can’t go without him, I told you we needed two tickets to Newark.”

“And we still don’t have any flights, but a special arrangement has been made for you,” she replies. Ryan must be adequately conveying his confusion without speaking because she continues: “I’m just here to escort you to your jet.”

“My what?!” Ryan blusters. Someone had been yanking his chain on Twitter about getting a jet, but there was no way he was coughing up for that shit, and USA Swimming certainly wouldn’t. He wonders briefly if this is Devon or someone else’s doing and whether he’ll end up footing the bill. “But I didn’t order a jet!”

The member of staff smiles at him again. “I know. But one has been sent for you.”

Ryan follows her dumbly through the airport, texting Conor to apologise and telling him to take the car back home if he can’t get himself a flight.

He’s ushered through security and down a hallway before being taken out onto the tarmac. And sure enough, there’s a jet waiting. Ryan stops at the bottom of the stairs and again tries to figure out how this has happened. He turns to ask the woman who brought him outside, but she’s gone.

The door to the plane is open and Ryan climbs the stairs and boards the plane. He’s only had the pleasure of a private jet a couple of times before – though his friends like to remind him that this is a couple more times than they have – so the experience is still pretty surreal for him.

As with previous trips, there are two polite and highly-attentive staff waiting for him. They introduce themselves, relieve him of his backpack and settle him into the generous seat before disappearing to their own seats, ready for takeoff.

The plane is soon taxiing down the runway and a voice comes over the loudspeaker. “Good afternoon, Mr Lochte and welcome aboard our unscheduled flight this afternoon to Newark.”

Ryan’s suddenly bolt upright in his seat. He knows that voice. But, it can’t be. Can it?

The voice continues, “Conditions look good all the way to New York with no turbulence currently expected and a current ETA of 15:10 local time. Our cabin crew will be with you shortly, on behalf of the crew, I hope you enjoy the flight.”

Sure enough, the stewardess is at his side a moment later. Ryan unbuckles his seatbelt and looks up at her.

“Is there anything you need, Mr Lochte?” she asks with a smile.

Ryan nods. “I need to see the Captain.” He fully expects at least a little resistance from her and tries to prepare some arguments in his head. Amazingly, he doesn’t need them: the stewardess smiles again and heads toward the front of the plane.

Ryan just stares after her, watching her disappear into the cockpit. He eventually picks his jaw up off the floor and squirms a little in his seat, trying to compose himself.

A minute later, Ryan can feel the presence of another person in the cabin but he can’t seem to tear himself round to see who it is, remaining rooted to his seat.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” a cool voice asks, a pair of legs stepping into Ryan’s range of vision. He looks up – even though he’s now positive that he’s not going nuts and that he identified the Captain’s voice correctly – and is greeted by Michael’s smiling face.

Ryan’s legs remember how to work and he flies out of his seat, launching himself at Michael – Ryan had no idea he had a thing for uniforms until just then, but he decides that there’s just _something_ about where those epaulettes sit on Mike’s shoulders... – and enveloping him in a tight hug.

He grips the back of Mike’s head with one hand, laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. “Dude!” he crows. “Uh... what the fuck?!”

Just as quickly as he’d thrown himself at Michael – and without waiting for the younger man to respond – Ryan springs away, worried. “Hang on. Are you really the Captain? And if so, who’s flying the plane?” He suddenly has visions of falling out of the sky, and briefly wishes that he’d just done what the airline staff had suggested and driven home and waited until tomorrow to get a flight to New York.

Michael laughs. “Don’t look so worried, Doggy! Yes, I’m the Captain. But it’s cool, this is what co-pilots are for. The plane’s all good.”

Ryan lets out the breath he was holding and drops back into his seat with relief. Michael sits down opposite him and Ryan drinks in the full view of the other man’s uniform.

“My original question stands,” Ryan finally manages. “What the fuck?”

Michael shrugs. “I saw your tweet. Decided to come pick you up. Can’t have you being late for your first big meet since the summer.”

“Bro, I’d managed that much by myself,” Ryan frowns. “I meant, uh, when did you become a pilot?”

“Oh!” Michael says, as if that hadn’t been the obvious inference of the question. “I got my licence last week. You’re my first, like, actual passenger.”

Ryan panics again. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Did you not hear what I said about the co-pilot?”

Ryan sticks his tongue out. “Yeah, rookie. But did nobody tell you what retiring means? I assumed you’d understood, since you yapped on about golf and that seems to be what old guys do.”

Michael scowls. “Do I need to remind you that you’re older than me?”

Ryan ignores the question, “You’re bored already and figured that flying’s the only thing most people can’t do – besides winning eight gold medals – so it’d be the only thing that’d keep you occupied?”

Michael shrugs. “Something like that.”

“Are you getting a motorbike too?” Ryan asks.

Michael laughs. “No, dude. Why would I do that?”

Ryan looks at him like he’s stupid. “Bro, please don’t tell me you haven’t seen Top Gun. You get a bike, you learn to fly, you ride off into the sunset with a blonde chick...”

“Does it look like that’s what I’m doing?”

Ryan knows that question doesn’t need an answer. “Stand up,” he commands.

“You had enough of me already?”

“Not even close. Give me a twirl, I like uniforms.”

Michael smiles and stands up, turning slowly on the spot. Ryan nods appreciatively and Michael takes the cue to walk down the cabin and back to him. “Did the stewardess give you the full tour?”

Ryan shakes his head, only now noticing the door behind Michael at the other end of the cabin that he suspects might not lead to a bathroom the size of a kennel. He points to the door. “Is that...?”

Michael holds his hand out. “Why don’t you come and see for yourself?”

Ryan doesn’t need any further encouragement. He takes Michael’s hand and the taller man drags him through the plane, pounding the door open with his free hand and revealing a bed almost as big as the one Ryan has at home. Ryan stops in the doorway, a little stunned and lets out a low whistle.

“Oh good, this’ll be easy,” Michael smirks.

Ryan rolls his eyes. “Since when has it been difficult? Dude, you didn’t have to go to all this trouble, all you had to do was show up at my door and get on your knees.”

“Ah, but the thing is,” Michael replies, loosening his tie and laying back on the bed, hands behind his head, “I’ve saved the day. So it’s you who should be on their knees.”

“Oh, but I thought you were going to give me a tour, Captain?” Ryan counters, stepping towards the bed. “Surely this thing has a bathroom? And, of course, I haven’t seen the cockpit yet...”

“Sure, there’s a bathroom,” Michael tells him, shifting slightly as he waits for Ryan to join him. “I might demonstrate how superior it is to other airplane bathrooms by fucking you in it before I land the plane.” He smiles in satisfaction as Ryan quivers noticeably and toes his shoes off, closing in on the bed. “But sadly the cockpit’s out of bounds for you.”

“That’s a shame. Is anything else off limits?”

Michael just shakes his head. Ryan pulls his shirt off as he brings his knee up and positions it beside Michael’s hip, climbing onto the bed to straddle the younger man. He settles back on his thighs, slowly untucking Michael’s shirt and walks his fingers up the fabric, undoing the buttons at his own pace.

Mike arches his back, reaching out to grab Ryan’s wrist. “Doggy,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “I know geography isn’t your strong point, but you’ve gotta know that Jacksonville to New York isn’t long haul. And I do have to land the plane, so now isn’t the time to be getting all titillation and foreplay on my ass.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow, withdrawing his hand from Michael’s chest to rub his fingertips back and forth across the exposed skin just above his waistband. “Keen to get going, MP?”

“Fuck yes,” Michael gasps, quickly undoing the rest of his shirt and letting it fall open.

“And here was me thinking it was called the Mile High Club, not the Mile a Minute Club,” Ryan murmurs to himself as he bends over to bite at the skin he’s just caressed.

“Yes, now we’re getting somewhere!” Michael enthuses, planting a hand on the back of Ryan’s head and pushing him down towards his crotch as he grapples with his belt with his other hand.

Ryan doesn’t normally like being bossed around into skipping some of his favourite parts of sexual encounters, but there’s something about Michael’s urgency today that’s getting his blood pumping a little quicker, so he ducks his head and quickly helps Michael out with his belt.

Once he’s unzipped Michael’s pants and shoved the bare minimum of clothing aside, Ryan retrieves Mike’s dick, wrapping his hand around it and running his fingers up and down it, tightening his grip as he works at it.

Ryan ducks his head again, glancing up at Michael as he does so and deliberately pushes his tongue out to swipe his lips. He smirks, toying with Michael and knows that the other man desperately wants to thrust his hips up towards Ryan’s waiting mouth. But Ryan’s in charge for now and he waits, rubbing Michael’s thigh, making sure he really can’t take any more of Ryan’s breath ghosting over the head of his dick before the older man finally – finally – parts his lips and draws it into his mouth.

The noise Michael makes as Ryan sucks the pre-come off goes straight to his own dick and knocks Ryan a little dizzy. He’s torn, briefly, between wanting to carry on glancing up at Michael as he goes down on him and wanting to get some of his own. The latter wins, and as Ryan takes more of Michael into his mouth, he shuffles himself around, knees now by Michael’s shoulders, crotch pointedly in the other man’s face.

Michael wastes no time in taking the bait, undoing Ryan’s belt and fumbling to yank his shorts off his ass while Ryan swirls his tongue and fists the base of Michael’s dick roughly. Ryan likes not being able to see what’s coming, focusing on what he’s doing to Mike as he’s divested of his shorts, twitching with surprise as Michael’s long fingers trace their way up the muscle on the back of his thigh.

Ryan presses his chest down against Michael’s belly, reaching his free hand down between the other man’s spread legs to rub his balls as he sinks his mouth further onto his hard dick. Mike’s now got both hands on Ryan’s hips, coaxing Ryan’s body down to meet his mouth. When he’s got Ryan where he wants him, Mike slides a hand round to grip Ryan’s dick and it’s Ryan’s turn to moan in frustration, attempting to thrust his dick instead toward Michael’s mouth. He gets a smack on the ass for his trouble and reluctantly redoubles his efforts with his mouth, feeling Michael’s hips stutter beneath him as he does so.

Michael’s hand wanders across Ryan’s ass, parting the muscular cheeks before sinking his tongue between them. Ryan moans loudly this time, mouth pulling off Michael’s dick as he rocks his hips toward the press of the other man’s tongue. Mike steadily works his tongue firmly in and out, pausing occasionally as he withdraws to suck noisily at Ryan’s skin.

It’s not long before Ryan’s panting, breathy moans falling incoherently from his lips, “Fuck, Mike...love that...gimme more...missed this...fuck yes!” A sharp tug on his dick brings him out of it a little and he tightens his grip on Michael’s dick once more, jerking him again in time with the rhythm of the tongue working his ass.

As he takes a deep breath and sucks Michael’s dick back into his mouth, Mike adds two fingers alongside his tongue – as if Ryan hadn’t figured out where this was headed – stretching and reaching for the bundle of nerves that drive Ryan insane. Michael rubs once, twice, three times over the spot he knows so well before Ryan has to come of up for air again, lungs heaving.

He collapses onto Michael’s abdomen, cheek pressed against the other man’s skin, hand slack on his dick again, trying to hold himself together. “Mike,” he rasps. “Get your ass up and fuck me.”

Michael needs no further prompting. He pushes Ryan out of the way, sliding out from beneath him and stands beside the bed. He quickly manoeuvres Ryan into position, kneeling at the edge of the bed, legs spread.

“If only all my passengers were gonna be like this,” he murmurs, holding Ryan’s hip steady as he thrusts into him sharply. 

Ryan groans in response, thumping the mattress with his fist. “Give it to me,” he demands. “Can’t keep New York waiting.”

Michael matches his groan and drives hard into Ryan, resting one knee on the mattress to switch up the angle and make Ryan howl. He digs his fingers into Ryan’s raised hips, determined to leave bruises he’ll be showing off all week in Turkey.

The flutter of Ryan’s muscles around his throbbing dick causes Michael to thrust further into the body beneath him. “Are you close?” he pants, feeling himself start to really lose control. “I want you to finish yourself off, stroke your dick.”

“Right away, Captain,” Ryan manages to groan, leaning harder on one arm to reach the other down and furiously jerk himself off. “You’re so bossy, MP.”

“You fucking love it,” Michael grits out, maintaining his brutal pace as he watches Ryan’s back arch beneath him. “C’mon, Ry.”

Ryan does as he’s told, body jerking under Michael’s touch, quickly making a sticky mess of the linen at the Captain’s demand. Moments later, Michael follows him over the edge, hips stuttering as he empties himself into Ryan and faltering just a little as he struggles not to collapse straight on top of the older man.

Mike keeps hold of Ryan’s hips, pushing him further onto the bed and following closely behind, slumping over his lover as he recovers his breathing. He withdraws with a groan a couple of minutes later, reluctantly trailing his fingers over the back of Ryan’s arm before disappearing into the bathroom.

“You’d better not be getting busy in there without me,” Ryan croaks from his position spread-eagled on the bed. With much effort, he lifts his head in time to see Michael emerge, shirt buttoned and tucked in, pants done up and tie back in place. Ryan pouts. “What happened to fucking me in there?”

“Looks like we’ll have to save that for a long haul trip,” Michael murmurs, leaning over the bed to kiss the back of Ryan’s neck. “I’ve got a plane to land.”

“Come pick me up from Turkey?” Ryan mumbles sleepily.

Michael chuckles, pausing before opening the door to the cabin. “That’ll cost you, Doggy.”

“If this is what all your flights are like, it’d be worth it,” Ryan yawns, closing his eyes as Michael returns to the cockpit.


End file.
